Keeping the Hearth Warm
by Akashic Records
Summary: The First Flame has been lit. Again. And again. And Again. Over and over the Cycle of the Darksign continues. But we all know about the endings. What about the beginnings? A collection of Omakes stands before you, detailing the stories of those who came before and after, and what happened to them in their attempts to live on after all the world was returned to the Light.
1. Chapter 1

_**Why-Kindled:**_

 _ **.**_

"Ya know, why theys got to call me 'Unkindled' all the time, ya know?"

It had started off so innocently. Really, it had! Don't give me that look, you weren't there!

*Ahem!*

Anyways, it had all started off innocently enough. Dahl, the most recent Unkindled One, had managed to do quite a lot in his time in the ruins of the world. Saved damsels, knights, and a goodly number of monsters as well.

In order to celebrate the newest Lord of Cinder to be put back on their throne the Firelink Shrine's denizens had decided to throw a party.

Everyone, from Andre the Blacksmith, to Anri and her companion Horace, Eygon and Irina of Carim, Sirris, Orbeck, Hawkwood, Leonhard, Picklepum, Sister Friede, Vilhem, Yorshka, the Handmaid and Fire Keeper, and of course, Siegward, life of the party.

The Undead Onion Knight from Catarina provided the group with a large cask of Siegbrau, making the party a lot more lively than they'd anticipated.

Why? Well, simply put, it turned out that there were a few light weights among the drinkers.

"An' thash why I say I should be called 'Rekindled!'" Dahl drunken complained, slamming his fist onto the stone slab being used as a table. His wrist snapped and he looked at the broken appendage dully until he began to flail about in pain.

After drinking some Estus to recover he then took a swig of Siegbrau to wash the taste of Liquid Flame from his mouth.

"I mean, ish not like I'm lacking a spark of the First Flame," he continued as if he dance of pain mere seconds ago hadn't occurred. "An' I technically can't be 'unkindled' if I have that, right? I mean, I'm a guy whosh on fire. So I have to be 'rekindled' 'cause I was set on fire to be brought back to life. It all makesh sense."

He nodded resolutely, challenging anyone to deny his wisdom.

"How much has Dahl had so far?" Sirris asked, leaning over to Siegward. The Onion Knight rolled his eyes beneath his helmet.

"Hasn't even finished his first mug! Boy's a total light weight when it comes to alcohol!"

The Knight of the Darkmoon winced at that, and stared at the Chosen One.

"Wow."

"I know right!" Andre cackled as he watched the drunken hero try to explain to Picklepum why soft and fluffy was so much better than musical and fun items.

The two were very close to getting into a brawl over the matter.

It was only thanks to Anri of Astora's intervention that the two did not descend into a punching match.

Of course, when the knightess began to weep they realized the prim and proper warrior maiden was a weepy drunk. This amused everyone watching to no end.

"You have to tell me your secrets!" Anri bawled, falling to her knees and grabbing Dahl's legs. This caused the Unkindled to trip and fall.

"Wha you need me to tell ya?" Dahl slurred, confused as to why he lay on the floor.

"Your secrets about attracting people to you! I needs it!"

"I've tried everything!" Anri continued as she wept. "Compliments, innuendos, even undressing in front of him, but he never reacts!"

"Now, now, I'm shure if ya just tell Horace ya fancy him everything will be all right," Dahl said kindly. The knight in question began to blush and turned away, even as eyes fell on him.

"But I can't do that, I'm too nervous and shy!" Anri whined drunkenly as she flailed around on the floor like an overgrown child.

"I get tongue-tied whenever I try, and it's just sho hard to talk to him!" She leaned in close and in a very loud whisper told Dahl, "His helmet is sho shexy!"

"I know, right?!" the Unkindled exclaimed. "I'm sho glad I is not the only one who think sho!"

Everyone was staring at the two babbling Undead, and at a flustered Horace. In the background Ludleth was cackling madly at the drama unfolding.

"You've gots lots of pretty women hanging off of ya, so yous gots to tells me your secret!" Anri begged.

"I haves pretty ladies?" Dahl asked stupidly.

"Yeah, you'ves gots the Fire Keeper, and Yor, um, Yol, uh, Yon, um, pretty dragon-lady, all chasing after yer 'flaming sword,'" Anri said, making an obscene gesture towards the two women who blushed bright crimson.

"And don't ya tell mes ya hasn't seen how Irina's been lookin' at yer ass!" she let out a cackle. "And we've all seen how the Dancer looks at it as well! I means, ya beat in her dat dance off to pass, and totes won so you knows ya gots 'junk in da trunk' as Orbeck would put it."

The knightess paused and took a moment to stare at the posterior in question. "It is a nice butt though. If I wasn't so dedicated to getting Horace to howl my name as I ride him I would totally get a piece of dat."

By now everyone was either roaring with laughter or looking away in sheer embarrassment. Irina was twitching silently at being called out for her wandering eyes while Eygon twitched with suppressed rage towards the Unkindled.

Horace was silently praying for anything to appear and end this insanity, while Orbeck looked annoyed at finding out Anri had been reading his private and personally written collection of poetry and songs.

Andre and Siegward were trying to support each other as they howled with laughter, Picklepum laughing along as well though it was clear the childish Crow-Woman wasn't sure what everyone found so funny and just went along with it.

Sirris was busy fanning her commander, the white clad half-dragon's face so flushed and heated she resembled a feverish, sickly lady. The Fire Keeper just had her hands in her face, wishing she didn't have her eyes so she didn't have to see everyone's leers and jeers directed at her.

Dahl blinked and looked around the room, unsure of why everyone was so mirthful. He shared a look with Anri who just shrugged.

"I dunno wats so funny," she said. Her eyes then fell on her stoic, silent companion and she staggered over, grabbing his shoulder and dragging him away.

"I is gonna show ya a good time," she said with a sultry expression. She leaned in. "We're gonna do it so hard you'll be reborn at the bonfire. Twice."

Under his helmet Horace's face went from pale to red and back to pale very quickly. He tried to escape but Drunk-Anri was a lot stronger than she looked, and the pair soon disappeared into the depths of Firelink Shrine.

The Unkindled One staggered to his feet and wobbled over to the Fire Keeper who blushed fiercely and tried to block the images that rose in her mind of the tall, handsome man carrying her off to a bed and ravishing her.

Dahl put his hands on the Fire Keeper and leaned in.

"Hey, can ya do something for me?" he asked, voice and mind addled by the potent drink.

"W-w-what is it?" she gasped, face heating up as he brought his face close to hers.

"Can ya change my title to 'Rekindled One?' And if so, do I have ta file any documents? Will there be a surcharge fee?"

The pale haired Fire Keeper stared at Dahl blankly.

"What."

Dahl opened his mouth to reply, but toppled forward, his face landing in her chest.

She squeaked indignantly at the crass interaction, but calmed down when she heard snores coming from the Chosen One.

She looked down at the man who was nestled happily in her bountiful bosom, then at the rest of the Undead who were watching with interest and varying degrees of jealousy,

"If any of you speak a word of this to him when he wakes up I will repossess all the power-ups I've given you," she threatened, and everyone hastily looked away, whistling innocently.

She sighed and looked down at the man she'd found herself growing to care for before shifting him so his head was in her lap.

A faint smile cross her lips, and she stroked his hair, her souls aching with long forgotten memories.


	2. Chapter 2: How to Run Your Kingdom (DS2)

**_How to rule your kingdom:_**

.

Erik was massaging his temples, trying to mitigate the biting pain of a raging headache.

For the past two hours he had been forced to listen to a pair of farmers argue about who owned the rights to a piece of land.

However, what was truly causing the recently ascended god all the pain and trouble was the fact that neither of them wanted it, yet both contested it as theirs and wanted to keep it from the other person.

The parcel of farmland was a swampy chunk of rotting earth that belched fumes of toxic gas once a month. Nothing grew, not even Purple Moss! The footing to get to the chunk of land was hazardous, with potholes and sharp thorned briars ringing the border between the toxic region and the healthy area.

And yet it lay between two farms, and neither farmer wanted to give it up despite all its problems.

And so, their petty feud had gone to local court. Then kept on rising until it was pushed off onto the highest authority's lap to deal with.

"Stop," Erik commanded, halting the farmers incessant yammering before it could become a fist fight between the two of them. Again.

At his command the two peas anted ceased talking and turned to the new lord and master of Drangleic.

"It is clear to me that you don't want the land, but neither do you want the other person to have it. As such, the only clear option is to give it to a third party, where they will deal with it," Erik said firmly, his godly voice booming over the throne room. He jabbed his finger at the pair of feuding farmers and they quailed under his annoyed gaze.

"The land is hereby confiscated, and turned over to the kingdom of Drangleic. It is now royal property. And I issue a decree stating that anyone who trespasses in that parcel of royal territory will become the new owner of the land. That'll be punishment enough for them," Erik declared, the last words earning a muffled chuckle from one of his guards.

The two farmers bowed deeply and began to utter their thanks but the God of Unity waved them off. They were escorted out of the throne room and as the doors closed the former chef could finally relax.

"I just don't understand some people," Erik groused, and he slumped in his gilded gold and titanite throne. "For one thing, why would anyone want to build a farm near the run-off zone from the Gutter? And why would they hate another person so much that they would want to keep a poisoned patch of land out of their hands just for spite?"

"It's the principle of the matter," the guard stationed to the left of his throne stated.

Aslatiel shifted a bit, still getting used to not wearing his Mirrahian armor, and instead wearing the new uniform of a demi-god. Though he was glad he got to keep his battle-coat. That thing was a snazzy piece of defense.

"Things like that happened in Mirrah all the time. It's about the amount of land for some farmers, rather than the use of it. Especially when the area is fallow or blighted, the only pride some men can take from what they own is how much of it they have," Aslatiel explained to his lord.

"I see. Still, I'm going to have to find a way to keep issues like that from ever getting this high in the court system. Another thing to add to the redesign of the legal code," Erik grumbled.

His guard to the right of the throne let out a boisterous laugh. "You could just say 'Screw it, it's your problem now,' and leave everything to a steward for a while."

"That's how kingdoms like Lindelt got started, Benhart," Erik argued. "The gods who were supposed to lead and guide got bored of being everyone's babysitter and just left it to humans to rule themselves. The stewards named themselves 'kings' after a few generations, and when the gods didn't punish them for assuming more and more power their newfound authority went to their heads. I'm not going to let that happen in this cycle. It will be hard, grueling, thankless work, but I shall not abandon these people."

"And that's why we stand at your side, my lord," Aslatiel said firmly. "We care about everyone, especially the lowborn."

"Plus, you promised us we could leave your service if you ever forgot these oaths you've taken," Benhart reminded. The knight from Jugo smiled fondly at the younger man. "But I doubt that will happen. You're too much of a nice guy to leave people to fend for themselves when you could help."

"Thanks," Erik said, touched by their kindness.

Further introspection was cut off when the doors to the throne room slammed open and Shanalotte stormed in. Several of the merely mortal guards outside looked apologetic at the intrusion.

"Honey…?" Erik began, but was cut off when the heterochromatic woman shoved a baby into his lap.

"Here. Watch Rosaria for me. I have a spa date with Mytha, Chloanne, and Rosabeth," the wife of the God of Unity declared, bags under her eyes and hair mussed up and tangled.

"Uh…"

"Thanks, love you, bye!"

And with that Shanalotte left as quick as she came, and Erik stared befuddled at the cute baby in his hands. The tiny lifeform of pure cuteness yawned and opened her eyes before smiling happily at her father.

She then immediately began crying, and Erik looked on helplessly at the wailing child.

"Wh-what do I do? Is she hurt?" He asked in a panic. Benhart rolled his eyes and took the baby from his lord and began to shush and rock her softly. Her screams faded and she cooed happily at the bearded demi-god.

"Sometimes they want attention, sometimes they want food, sometimes is a whole host of different reasons," Benhart stated. "I had several sons and daughters at home before I was cursed with undeath. And they all loved being rocked gently like this."

"You know, a part of me is kind of glad Rosabeth and I cannot have children," Aslatiel mused. He had taken the Pyromancer of Melfia as his wife not long ago, and she had been made Erik's Court Sorceress not long after. Even if flames were her specialty she still had been the top student of one of the greatest sages of the land, and knew all about Sorcery from Carhillion.

"She wants to adopt, though, and I'm trying to get her to pick a kid who's old enough not to need constant attention," Aslatiel stated when he saw the looks his two companions were giving him. "We're too busy right now trying to keep the entire kingdom running in our respective ways to dedicate much time to a newborn like she wants. Maybe in a century or two when the land is more stable."

The former sword master of Mirrah blinked before shaking his head, bemused. "And I never thought I would start measuring time in centuries rather than years and decades!"

"Being immortal is going to take some getting used to," Benhart agreed, passing Rosaria back to her father. She was happier now and Erik gladly took her and began to play by making faces.

"Personally, I don't know if I could stand to adopt a child, knowing I will outlive them without fail. Well, unless I get killed in battle or something. Still, that seems something far too cruel to go through, to myself and to any child."

Erik nodded sadly. The idea of his daughter dying before him scared the new god more than anything. At least his friends he had made in Drangleic would all live long and prosperous lives beside him. Those who were not full gods had all been made Demi-gods, even Gilligan!

"So, who wants lunch?" Erik asked, standing from his throne. "I want to see if the new chefs I've hired for the castle have managed to make a few more of Donovan's dishes?"

"Always thinking of food, aren't you?" Benhart chuckled.

"You're just hoping they messed up so you can step in and do some cooking!" Aslatiel accused with a laugh.

"Gah-bah-pth!" Rosaria burbled.

Erik looked down meekly at the floor. "Am I really that transparent?"

"YES!" Everyone, even his regular human servants, shouted at him.

The God of Unity's shoulders slumped. And everyone shared a laugh at his expense. Just like old times!


	3. Chapter 3: Naughty Snake! (DS1)

**_._**

 ** _Naughty Snake!_**

 ** _._**

Things had not gone as planned. Not at all!

The First Flame had been reignited by some selfless fool who believed in good and honor and all that crap. And somehow, despite everything they had been led to believe, the sacrifice had not perished, but in fact risen to become the first of a new pantheon of gods!

This had not been part of the plan!

Deep in the inky black of the Abyss Kaathe was busy ordering his Darkwraiths to the surface to try and block that bastard's advance into the lower reaches. The newly ascended deity had begun a crusade to cleanse the tainted regions of Lordran, and had chosen to start with New Londo.

The sunken city spewed forth its vile minions, and at first the Dark worshipping Primordial Serpent had been confident he could hold back the forces of a newly ascended god.

The Darkwraiths he commanded were the boogeymen of the world. Able to invade any region or location thanks to the Red Eye Orbs he had fashioned from the plucked eyeballs of Abyss tainted mortals, the Darkwraiths could murder anyone anywhere. They could steal the Humanity of others with but a touch, and the Curse of the Undead made them nigh immortal, even without the Abyssal ichor flowing in their veins.

And they were strong. Utterly fearless and armed with a fraction of the Abyss's might, the bone-clad knights Kaathe had gathered were more than a match for the Blades of the Darkmoon or any other champion the 'God of Peace' could bring.

At least, that's what it had first been like. But lately his forces had been driven back inch by bloody inch. Kaathe had miscalculated greatly; with the First Flame reborn the Darksign was gone, and with it the majority of the Darkwraiths powers. They no longer needed to steal Humanity to survive, and in fact many had tried to abandon the Covenant when they learned they were free.

And most importantly, all the Dark based powers the Darkwraiths had obtained were pitifully weakened now. Their Dark Hand ability was gone, and with it their Humanity stealing. They were no longer immortal, either, as the Curse of the Undead was totally lifted. Without the Darksign to resurrect the dead, their numbers dwindled with each battle.

And without the Darksign the Red Eye Orbs didn't work as well as they should have anymore. What shock and awe the Darkwraiths held over their former victims was greatly lessened, and with the God of Peace leading the charge personally into New Londo his forces had splintered and been put to the sword.

Everything was ruined!

Kaathe seethed in anger, but paused when one of his few loyal minions ran to him, blabbering nonsense. Unable to decipher the Darkwraith's words the Covenant Master rose from the Darkness to see what all the fuss was about. He froze, paralyzed as he looked over the battlefield.

For the first time in centuries, the sun had returned to New Londo.

A tall, unearthly man radiating pure light strode through the cavernous depths of the city, his aura igniting all that stood in his way. The vast piles of bodies, victims of the city's downfall, were set aflame, purified into ash. The phantoms, intangible nightmares that had guarded New Londo since it fell, exploded and faded into mist as the rays of divine energy fell upon them. The ooze monsters, born from Abyss tainted rot and mold, melted into puddle of steaming ichor and burst into flame.

Some Darkwraiths fell to their knees, weeping in pain and shame. Others tried to run. It mattered little, as all of the bone armored knights became living pillars of flame as the Darkness inside of them ignited in the presence of the First Flame's avatar.

Kaathe trembled in fear as he watched the God of Peace approach.

"Ah, Chosen One, you've returned," the Primordial Serpent said weakly. It could feel the power radiating from the god, and he was not so foolish as to think he could fight and win against this being.

"Kaathe," the God of Peace spat, looking over the monstrous snake with disgust in his eyes. He hefted his occult blade, the Server, from its resting place on his shoulders and pointed it at the Darkwraith's master.

Without a word he lunged, scoring a deep wound on Kaathe's belly. Noisome fluids spurted from it, and the serpent bellowed in pain. Before he could retreat into the Abyss his fleshy moustache was grabbed and he was pulled down in front of the God of Peace.

"This is the end!" He roared, and the god tore the 'moustache' off of Kaathe's face.

"You and Frampt have manipulated us long enough. It was you and your kin who led Gywn and the others to the First Flame! You lot who tried to manipulate the world and all that happened since! Well no more!"

"You think I do not know what you are? What the 'Primordial Serpents' truly represent? You are naught but rotten intestinal worms born from the putrid entrails of a fallen Star-Lord. The very same one whose corpse became the First Flame."

The God of Peace threw down the massive snake onto the stained tile floor and placed his blade on its neck.

"Your meddling ends here."

"If you slay me, I will only return!" Kaathe spat, mocking the Chosen One. "I am one with the Flame, as are my kin! Our father will rise and there is nothing you pathetic mortals can do about it!"

"I know. Which is why I won't put you down like you so rightly deserve."

Kaathe stared in confusion at the god before golden flaming chains erupted from an outstretched palm. They wrapped around Kaathe's body and shot into the Darkness. Muffled howls could be heard from below, as well as the 'fwoosh!' of the last of the Darkwraiths igniting.

"I break your Covenant, Kaathe, and all who are a part of it now perish. And I bind you with my powers given to me by the First Flame. Only when the First Flame is about to truly fade and die will you be able to escape from your prison."

"You cannot do this!" Kaathe screamed, thrashing about. But the golden chains only dug deeper and tighter. "This Cycle will end and you will lose all your powers, and then I will be free!"

The God of Peace snorted. "I thought of that. I am not so foolish as to not plan ahead in that regard. Which is why I've anchored these chains which now bind you, and soon will bind the rest of the Primordial Serpents, to the Kiln itself, rather than my own soul. The Kiln is eternal, like the Flame it guards. Its form may change but even if the tiniest spark of the First Flame remains it will endure. And thus keep you prisoner until it fades."

Kaathe began to scream and struggle even harder, but the chains refused to release him. Instead, they started to drag the deformed snake away towards his new prison. He would join Frampt in bondage in the deepest level of the Kiln, hidden from all prying eyes.

The newly born god gave one last look around the area before stalking off. A red robed man with a bird-like mask approached the deity timidly.

"My lord, what will you do now?"

"I will destroy this place. It is too drenched in the Abyss's power, and will continue to be a cursed realm unless it is cleansed. If you have any belongings, I suggest you take them now, Yulva."

The last Sealer of New Londo shook his head and retreated up towards the elevator which would take him to Firelink Shrine. A few Blades of the Darkmoon saluted the lone warden of the city as he passed before the turned to the God of Peace for orders.

"The Darkwraiths are gone, and will not darken the world for a long time to come. However, justice must be ever vigilant. Evil always will try to thrive when good men do nothing. Now, return to Gwyndolin and inform him I am almost finished with this place. And that he should prepare for purging the Tomb of the Giants next."

Salutes and flashes of blue light greeted him, and the god sighed once no one was left to observe him. He ascended the stairs and stood on the edge of the cliff that looked over the ruins of New Londo.

He raised his hands, and the light that surrounded him coalesced into a massive ball of solar fury. He then hurled it into the center of the damned city and watched silently as everything burned. Only when all was ash and baked mud did he leave, collapsing the cavern in on itself.


	4. Chapter 4: Blood and Fire (BB)

**_._**

 ** _Blood and Fire:_**

 ** _._**

Allister Dunadain was a simple man, with simple taste. Wine fine, excellent food, and not getting mauled by nightmarish beasts in the blood soaked ruins of a once noble city.

Was that really so much to ask?

Apparently it was, as he cut down yet another demented and malformed pig-thing.

This one though was unique compared to the others he had fought within Yharnam, This pig was far more boar-like, and had razor sharp and barbed tusks. Its skull and bones protruded from its body, forming a hardened bone helm and plate that protected it head and upper body. It was able to deflect all but the most devastating attacks, and only magic and Quicksilver pierced it. Or, someone could attacked it from behind, where none of its armor was.

And so Allister Dunadain, fourth son of Viscount Roger Dunadain and current Good Hunter of the Dream, once more flayed the butt of a pig with his grandfather's Threaded Cane.

He offered a silent prayer of forgiveness towards his beloved grandpa as the Blood Echoes poured in.

Now that the boar was dead, he could take a look around the area he was in.

He had discovered a strange Chalice Dungeon buried beneath the lowest levels of Mensis' old headquarters, and proceeded to enter it. Immediately he was assailed by several armored boars and what appeared to be large lumps of animated blue crystal and men with the bodies of snakes.

Perhaps they were the origin of those strange snake-monsters he had seen in the woods around the area? That would make sense if Mensis' "geniuses" had tried to experiment with the inhabitants of this dungeon and their work got loose.

What truly astonished Allister was the fact that this Chalice Dungeon was a library. It was filled with countless books, most of them rotted to nothing on the shelves, but several tomes still remained, preserved in chunks of crystal or within glasses cases and treasure chests.

Here and there great clusters of shimmering crystals dotted the area, sealing some parts off entirely. It was as if a geyser had erupted then instantly frozen in several spots the crystal formations were so large, misshapen, yet elegant.

Revolving stairs and assorted mechanical wonders also could be seen, and Allister wondered if this was where the inventions he had seen in Yharnam had been copied from.

Now, however, he came to a chamber almost completely bathed in opaque crystal. Sitting at the far end was a pedestal upon which a book had been placed. It seemed intact, but was guarded by a large Golden Crystal Golem.

Allister tensed, then sprang into action as it barreled towards him. He leapt aside from its wild swinging arms which struck the ground, causing pillars of jagged crystal to burst forth.

He aimed and fired his Evelyn pistol, staggering it. He then darted forward and swung his Threaded Cane, striking at its joints. Had he a larger weapon he could have simply smashed the golem to pieces. Instead, he was forced to rip its limbs apart so it was immobilized. Then, he dropped a rock on its head. Destroying it like all the others he had encountered.

It perished and offered no Blood Echoes, annoyingly, but the crystalline material seemed fairly precious and radiated an unknown energy, so he pocketed several large chunks for study. Perhaps they could make excellent bullets or upgrade materials!

Foe vanquished, he approached the dias where the tome lay. The cover was made of gold, and elegant images of flames decorated it. He cautiously opened it, revealing the interior.

He gaped in shock. Someone had made the pages out of gold! Each one was made of finely pressed and polished gold, the words etched into the surface and filled in with black ink. He could not recognize the language, but there were numerous diagrams and it seemed to be a combination of a diary and a scientific journal.

One page detailed a wyvern-like beast, dissected and its assorted parts labeled. Another had both versions of the snakemen and a new one that seemed female, but had tentacles for hair and the lower-half of a serpent.

A picture of a trident-wielding man with a six-eyed helmet gave Allister pause, and he wondered if that head cage-thing the Mensis members had worn had been inspired by this item.

Near the back the script became more erratic, and eventually devolved into scribbles. Then, a new author seemed to pick up the pen, as their words were steadier but noticeably different from the last man's writing.

These words had a faint ember glow to them, and Allister quickly snapped the book shut, afraid of being drawn too deep into the glittering words upon the pages.

He still took the grimoire, and hastily exited the Chalice Dungeon. This warranted some investigation. What could be so precious and mystical that he'd needed 100 insight just to find this place?

.

Outside of the library shaped Chalice Dungeon Allister tore through the notes of the various scholars of the facility. There was little on the mysterious dungeon, and what he could find had belonged to the department heads.

At last he had swallowed his bile and broken into Micolash's personal study and rooted through the blasphemous texts within. After hours of searching and throwing up a half dozen times from the horrors the mad head of Mensis had written of, he finally found what he was looking for:

A book entitled "Lordinium to Yharnam, how it all came to be," a translation guide for the ancient language in the golden tome, and several notes by Micolash.

'What we have here is proof, actual proof!, that the mythical Empire of Flames, Lordinium, as the fables call it, existed! Not only that, but it was here, right where Yharnam is now located! Here is the source of an ancient power that seems to have been coveted by the Old Ones. We believe our very own research facility is built on the ruins of a notable site, but cannot access it due to a strange power that keeps us at bay.'

'We managed to uncover a way into the ruins! Using the newly developed Chalice Dungeons, we have pieced a hole into whatever mystical barrier kept it hidden and intact all these years. Interestingly, it seems that the Church's vaunted Blood Ministrations are useless within this space, and anyone who has had one cannot enter lest they suffer lesions and burns all over their body.'

'This place is amazing! It is a library, filled with wondrous knowledge! We have begun rudimentary examinations and tentative translations of the few surviving texts, and already we have learned so much! Not to mention some engineers are over the moon for the machinery and devices it employs. It is guarded by unnatural beasts, though. Snakes that walk like men, boars that are armored in their own bones, and sentient lumps of crystal impede us at every turn.'

Allister flipped through it all, until he came to the last entry in Micolash's journal in regards to this dungeon.

'I don't believe it. It seems impossible, but we have found a golden tome that has revealed to us the very nature of the soul, and how to use it. Those snake-men? Human-reptile hybrids. The boars? Pigs enhanced with the souls of so-called 'dragons.' The golems? Raw souls transmuted into a solid substance! And there's more! Details on how to absorb souls for nourishment lies in here, alongside the methods to moving souls from one body to another. Not to mention we have finally uncovered vital facts about the Old Ones, how to contact them, and how to fuse their essence with mortals! Those fools in the Church have been wrong this whole time! The answer was never in the stars, but below us! We can become like the legendary God-Kings of old! Immortality is in our grasps!'

The rest was smudged and ruined, but the information within stunned Allister. Souls were real. Not just metaphysical or anything, but actually tangible! No wonder Micolash went mad, he meddled in that which was not meant to be touched!

But the words gave him pause. The old leader of Mensis claimed that the secrets to moving and manipulating souls was within the pages of the tome he now held.

A thought he had long fought to keep from thinking about pushed its way forward.

"Could I give Doll her own body?"

The doll. His companion. His teacher. His, dare he say it, lover. She loved him unconditionally, cared for him and tended his wounds. He would not lie and say he had not fallen in love with her. But he could never be with her.

But now, he had a lead. A way that could give him what they both craved. And it did not lie in the sick, twisted miracles of false gods and moon-starved abominations.

He gripped the tome tight. He had his answers, now. And, he had hope. The most terrible of poisons.


	5. Chapter 5: Dance Off! (DS 3)

**_._**

 ** _Dance Off_**

 ** _._**

How had it come to this? He wasn't sure, but he was fairly certain it was all Siegward's fault. Yup. That sounded about right. When in doubt, blame the Onion Knight.

So, here Dahl was, staring sensual death in the face. He had never felt so much fear as he did right now, nor so many confliction emotions.

The Dancer of the Boreal Valley was beautiful in an unearthly, inhuman way. Her movements were perfect, and her blue bodysuit hugged her curves tightly. The crackling embers that sustained her filled the room with suffocating heat.

In the distance, some Hollows had gathered up ancient musical instruments and begun laying down a 'phat beat,' as the particular style of music was called in the lingo of dancers.

The Dancer moved, swaying and undulating with the beat, her every action reflecting the tune in some intimate manner.

Then, the music stopped, and she stared down at the Unkindled One through her helm, waiting for him to make his own move.

Off to the side, he heard a crunching sound, and Dahl shot an annoyed glare at the man who had gotten him into this mess. The nerve of him, eating popcorn while he performed a dance-off to survive!

"You can do it!" Siegward called, somehow stuffing another handful of popcorn into his mouth through his bulbous helmet.

"If I survive this I am punting your round ass off the highest peak I can find," Dahl vowed.

The Catarinian knight shrugged. "Fair enough."

The Last Chosen One sighed but straightened his back, returning the Dancer's stare.

The music started, and he took a breath. Then, he began to pop and lock.

His body moved in intricate displays of dexterity and finesse. Faster and faster he followed the beat. Hand stands followed Moonwalks, and he pulled off a quadruple head spin just as the music ended.

Panting, he stood upright and glanced over at a trio of figures seated behind a ruin pew turned into a table. Time to receive the scores.

"I feel like the Dancer's skills were truly the stuff of legends," Leonhard praised, smiling warmly at the much larger being. She bowed at his words, and a smug sense of satisfaction came as he held up a score card with a blue '9' on it.

"As for the Unkindled One, well, I cannot deny he made a good effort, but sadly he lacked the flexibility of the Dancer. Still, he showed significant variety in his move set," the knight said, holding up a card with a red '8' on it.

"I agree with Leonhard, the Dancer was definitely amazing. And, as a woman, I have to say I am envious of her figure," Anri claimed, causing the Dancer to make an 'Oh, you!' gesture while acting bashful. "She definitely earned this score."

A blue '10' was revealed.

"As for Dahl, sadly, I have to say I found his dance moves stale and cramped. He was trippin' on the beat, yo. But he pulled off that Moonwalk flawlessly, so I guess it wasn't too ill." The knightess from Astoria gave him a red '6.'

"Did you guys forget that if I lose this match I'll die?!" the Unkindled One shouted at the panel of judges.

"And what, you expect us to cheat and lie on your behalf?" Leonhard asked incredulously.

Anri shook her head in mock disgust. "Disgraceful, isn't he, Horace? Trying to rig a match in the hallowed duel of the dance off!"

The silent knight companion nodded in agreement before holding up a blue '10' for the Dancer and a red '8' for the Last Chosen One.

"Oh, come on, you guys!" Dahl shouted in annoyance as he saw the scores.

"Look, you were the one who wanted this to happen," Anri scolded the Unkindled One. "First, you were too cowardly to face her on your own so you brought the four of us with you. Then, when you saw who she actually was and learned her tragic backstory you didn't want to mercilessly slaughter her like you were supposed to."

The knightess folded her arms in annoyance. "Make up your damn mind already! Do you want to step up your game, or do you want us to rush her and try to overwhelm her in a sneak attack so we can continue with the journey?"

"Well it won't be much of a sneak attack now, will it?" Dahl shot back, glancing at the Dancer with a worried expression.

She didn't seem to be angry though. If anything, the cursed woman seemed amused by the antics and the bickering the group of friends had.

While the Unkindled One argued with Anri and the rest, she wandered over to a spot in the room and removed some paper and a quill. Carefully, she scribbled out some words and passed them to Siegward.

The Onion Knight took one look at them before bursting into laughter.

"Oi! Dahl, come here! The Dancer is giving you a second chance to defeat her!"

"Judging from the way you're laughing, I assume it's going to be humiliating for me?" the ember stained individual asked with a weary groan. When he nodded Dahl whimpered but approached none-the-less.

"So, what does she want me to do?"

"Oh, nothing much. All she wants from you is a private dance," Siegward said, passing him her instructions. He paled as he read them.

"Oh my. I mean, we really don't have to go this way," Dahl said slowly, inching away from the gargantuan lady. "We can find another entrance. Or climb. Yes, we can climb over the Fog Gate…"

Siegward clamped his arms onto the Unkindled's shoulders, pinning him in place.

"My boy, it's time you do this. For the good of the world, you must give the Dancer of the Boreal Valley a strip-and-lap dance," he said solemnly, though his mirth was clearly evident in his tone.

"Holy shit! Are you serious?" Anri demanded, jumping up from her spot at the judges table.

"See?! Anri gets it! She'd never let me do something so demeaning!" Dahl said, while at the same time the Sun worshipping knightess shouted,

"I have to go tell everyone about this! They need to see it too!"

She ran for the fog gate, and Dahl's heart and soul sank when he saw the Dancer permit the young woman to leave and fetch an audience for his shame.

Meanwhile, Siegward wandered off to set the stage for the performance.

"Leonhard, Horace, help me set up this pillar in the center of the room. We can use it as a stripper's pole!"

Dahl whimpered, then shivered as he felt a leering gaze travel up and down his body, sizing him up and undressing him with smoldering eyes.

"Hey, all you Gods, be you past and present, if you can hear me, let me just say 'F^(% you!' Making me turn into a manwhore in order to save the world! I won't forget this humiliation!" he shouted to the heavens.

Dahl could swear he heard two voices laughing at him from across a vast distance. Oddly enough, they both sounded a lot like him…


End file.
